Repressed Absolver

The well relapses on its drink
and from its kidney bloats in uranium,  
a drunkard's ball.  
Bury the droplets at wartime.  
  
There is no exit from rumination  
with the depth of 300 feet beyond.  
The bedrock implodes and brittle radon  
sheds away throughout to the magic water.  
   
Last she looked, last her face she saw.  
Last, before the brain collapsed.  
We believe the pool entreasures that image pre-fright.  
   
Returning to this corner here  
of mania and tastebuds metal,  
the memory trace is mulled over.  
   
"I can't leave," she says.  
The insurgent thoughts revolt along the disassociative fault of that amygdala.  
No rain, nor kitchen lined with cabinets of new moulds.  
   
Beating her head to the swollen flakes in the taste of dragon scaled clay on her aging tongue,  
still a hollow in the aquifers  
resounds pooling beneath her pressed ear  
of the innocence compounded by the episodes of her early meltdowns.